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Philippines Graphic Reader
The Man with Horns
Close to the end of my ties with Catharine, I was inconveniently reminded of the time when I learned that I grew up with a father from whom I wasn’t exactly begotten.
This—this sudden act of remembrance—happened as she and I had just walked...
Lines from My Nepal Notebook
A whiff of jasmine
Rose petals scattering
Mighty pines dancing
Bamboos swaying, dipping, snapping back
Sunflowers gazing at their namesake in giddy worship.
A windy spring day in Godavari.
(April, 2011)
A Portrait of My Father
Last night was your birthday
Forgot to tell my cousin
to light a candle
on your grave.
DID I LOVE YOU ENOUGH
DID MY WORDS HURT YOU
YOUR SHADOW STALKED ME
I PROMISED
THERE WILL BE NO TEARS
I remember your laughter
as you sit in that corner of our apartment
and Itim, our...
The Arrangement of Falling Things
Along the walk to the InstituteThe Indian cork tree begins its silent shift.White, five-pointed stars rest on the pavement,not fallen, but arranged,as if the long night had paused hereto remember itself.
Each blossom is a cool reprieverising through the warm morning.They ease your steps,...
Making Believe
How long to carry on this pretense
That, yes, I am now fine
Making believe that you are just away on another
Of your many leavings
But how to walk
In the shade of the trees
And the flowers on a path
You loved and often walked home
Without feeling you...
These Invisible Forces
There was pain, lots of it. And it seared. It felt like fire, or like being eaten alive. Vincent screamed, using that one scrap of energy he had left to aim the dartgun at the sheath of Pretenders making their way up his...
